


The Devil's Husband: Temeraire

by Saintduma



Series: NaNoWriMo: The Devil's Husband [2]
Category: Original Work, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Gen, NaNoWriMo, Temeraire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 09:32:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5158811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saintduma/pseuds/Saintduma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part of a series done for NaNoWriMo.  It is not at all edited.  The "chapters" are very short, because they're really just bursts of words, not because they're meant to be full-length chapters by any means.  This is primarily just so I can organize them.</p><p>Hael is the first officer aboard the British-hatched Flecha del Fuego, Sebastien.  When Sebastien's captain, Gabriel Asche, goes missing during a skirmish in Central America, Iskierka and John Granby save Sebastien and First Officer Urmen from certain death, and commit to helping them find Captain Asche in exchange for help in their own struggles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Husband: Temeraire

“I really don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation,” Captain John Granby intoned, leveling his gaze at his dragon, who huffed steam and cocked her head, showing all the obstinance she’d carried her entire life clearly on her expression as she regarded him, composing her response.

“But Granby,” she replied. “Just because he’s a firebreather doesn’t mean he’s any good at it. I’m quite sure he hasn’t got half my range.”

The Flecha-del-Fuego bristled at that, his long white-streaked black wings twitching slightly, as if he might launch himself at her, despite the fact that Iskierka was a far larger dragon, being a heavyweight to his lightweight, some thirty tonnes to his nine. This prompted the Romani man who was, as of yet inexplicably, his first lieutenant, to put his hand on his neck, distracting him from the insolent Kazilik dragon’s conversation with her captain.

“A Flecha-del-Fuego can sustain a fire burst for three minutes or more, my dear, don’t you think, with our current circumstance, that would be a good friend to have at our back?” Granby was placating, and as she gathered herself to protest again, he spoke before she could. “And besides. This is our best chance to find his captain, and if you lost me, even for a few days, wouldn’t you be anxious for someone to help?”

Iskierka huffed steam again, and regarded the dragon again with suspicion, before she finally gathered herself up, quite officiously, and fixed her eye on him.

“Very well. Sebastien, you may fly with me, until we find your captain, and after if he is a reasonable sort, but you do not half my range, so you must fly quick to keep up. What is your first lieutenant’s name?”

“Urmen,” the Flecha-del-Fuego named Sebastien replied, drawing up as well so his red face was almost at her eye, one wing half-curling around his sole living crew member. “He is First Lieutenant Urmen.” 

“Very well,” Granby said. “Mister Urmen, if you will accompany me, we shall review our stores and make a plan of action.” 

The young Spanish-bred dragon looked anxiously down at the Romani man, who patted the black hide reassuringly, so that the dragon would lift his wing; it was quite in the way of him being able to follow the Kazilik dragon’s captain. 

“He’s quite young, is he?” Granby asked the first lieutenant as they stepped into the supply tent. “Sebastien?”

“Five years, I believe,” Hael replied, looking over the relatively small stack of crates and bags that had come off of Sebastien after the aerial battle that Iskierka had quite saved them from. “I came on board after he was almost full-grown, and I confess I am not very good with breeds, or how quick they grow.” 

“How did you come to be his first lieutenant?” Granby asked, offering Hael a crowbar, which Hael used to open one of the scorched crates. 

“A stroke of bad luck, for his crew,” Hael admitted, as the wood creaked and the nails pulled free, revealing nothing more extraordinary than a crate full of harness-leather. “I was only riding as an interpreter, when we came under fire from one of those new Fleur-de-Nuit hybrids. His fire did nothing to blind her, and she stayed too far out of his reach, and a Roi-de-Vitesse managed to scoop in on us; they shot two dead and knocked a the first lieutenant so bad on the head he died a few hours later. I managed to get a shot in with one of the dead men’s rifles and wounded the captain of the Fleur-de-Nuit, I can not even say how; but Sebastien and Gabriel-- sorry. Captain Asche kept me aboard, and when we got to Falmouth, his last man Luther lost his nerve, and was court-martialed for refusing to come back on harness. Captain Asche insisted I stayed on board. He testified to my... rational nature. Some of the Admiralty was opposed.”

Granby pressed his lips into a tight line, disapproving of the Admiralty’s disapproval; the fact that Hael was a Romani did not mean anything regarding his ‘rational’ nature, or for that matter, his loyalty. Granby had seen clear enough in his time at Tenzing Tharkay’s side to know that the racial breeding of a man meant absolutely nothing regarding his nature and loyalty. Hell, Junichiro might have been a fool to join the French after Russia, but Granby admired him even for that. The boy had been absolute in his convictions and his loyalty, and it had not been an easy choice to do what he had. For the Admiralty, so many men turned fat bureaucrats, to question the loyalty of a man who had fought so hard for a country that barely regarded him a citizen-- Granby silenced those thoughts, helping Hael nail the crate closed again, and lift the next on top of it. 

“I have seen you shoot,” he said fairly. “I should say you are not simply a lucky shot, and Sebastien is lucky to have you; I saw how you flew him in that skirmish with the Copacati, and to keep him safe from all that spitting vitriol, you are not a fool in handling him.”

“He is the cleverest wing I have ever flown,” Hael said, and at once realized he couldn’t say what other wings he’d flown; not for needing to keep a silence, but for being unable to actually remember what other dragons he’d flown. He’d certainly never flown anything here. He could remember other places-- places that were certainly not here, not South America, not... 

“Mister Urmen, did you hear me?” Granby was saying, concerned at the suddenly vacant expression on the first lieutenant’s face; he wondered if he had taken a knock on the head that they had not seen, or that perhaps he didn’t remember for it having been so hard.

“I am sorry,” Hael said, and focused his black eyes on Granby’s face again. “I did not. Please excuse me, it has been many days since I have slept more than a very little while.” He didn’t need to sleep, not really. He knew that, which was why he had been awake so long, and why he wasn’t a raving madman for lack of it, and food, but Granby looked even more concerned at that, and clapped his hand gently on Hael’s shoulder. 

“Good gods, man, I’m sorry I didn’t suggest it earlier,” he said and then swept the tent open again with the steel hook on his other hand. “Tennys,” Granby called. “Get Mister Urmen a meal and a cot.” 

Hael could not but be grateful when he was handed biscuit and a bit of bacon, and a deep cup of water. He ate in small bites, familiar with the pain of a too-quickly filled stomach from a time that did not belong to this place, sitting beside Sebastien, who was curled away from Iskierka in the clearing. The Flecha del Fuego did not want him too far away; after all, Hael had sworn to help him find Captain Asche, or avenge him, whatever they found, and Hael knew the dragon could not bear the thought that they would need to do the latter. He hoped they wouldn’t have to, either.


End file.
